Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 19

Nineteen

Dare

I grit my teeth and glare at my twin, my legs spread wide, and my fingers itching to do him harm. He leans against one corner of Remy’s desk, glowering at me. Remy watches both of us from his broad desk, rocking back in his chair. My uncle Felix and my father are like a set of stone gargoyles, each perched in their corners of the office and watching our fight passively.

Burn slaps a hand down on the desk, drawing my attention.

"It’s obvious I’ve already won. I think that because I am so much closer to being married and having a child, I should be rewarded by being named the next CEO after Remy."

I roll my eyes and look at Remy, pleading my case. "He doesn’t even have either of the qualifications that are necessary to win the race. He’s having a hard time making Daisy move the wedding date up. That’s why he is pulling this stunt."

Burn stands up, shooting me a glare, and then waving around the room. "I think we all agree on the facts. Simply put, Dare is getting nowhere with his desperate search to find a bride. He isn’t going to win. So, I think that it is only fair to go ahead and name me the successor now."

He turns, directing his speech to Remy himself. "I pretty much have it in the bag. And despite what Dare says, I am persuading Daisy to move the wedding up."

I give a sharp, cold laugh. "I doubt that. I also doubt that she is ready to be a mother. When we were dating, she was not even sure that she would have a single child, much less an heir and a spare."

My brother frowns at me, crosses his arms, and taps his foot. "When you were engaged, she was a different person. She met me and decided to change. She says that with me by her side as a partner, she can do anything. Including having ten kids, if that’s what I want."

"You know what? You fucking suck. And you're an asshole. But that doesn’t even matter. Because I have a plan that is already in motion. And shortly, you’ll all see just what it is. Trust me, it’s great. At least, it is for me.”

Burn’s body tenses, his hands balling into fists. He narrows his eyes toward my face. I can tell that he’s ready for violence.

Do I smirk at him? Or do I give him the same blank face that I have worked so hard to perfect?

"Fuck you!" Burn snarls. "I’ll fucking destroy you."

"I don’t see how, when I am going to win this competition and take over the family business."

Remy stands up with a suddenness that I wasn’t expecting. He scowls at everyone in the room, then slowly turns to Burn. "Burn, I’m not going to declare you the de facto winner just yet. I can’t be certain that you will give me a great-grandchild until you put that baby in my arms. And no, before you ask, adopting a child is not an option. It must be Morgan blood coursing through the veins of whatever child you bring in here."

My Uncle Felix stirs from the corner, rising from his chair and almost languidly walking over to the three of us. "No one is asking the important question. What if one or both are impotent?" He flashes a vicious smile. "I think you should include me in the race too. Let me do what your grandsons obviously can’t do. I can lock down a wife this week and be trying to get her pregnant as soon as tonight."

Remy straightens his back, the movement appearing to be excruciating. He peers at my uncle, his lips curling. "Absolutely not. You had your chance, Felix. You blew it. And as for the twins being impotent? He swings his gaze around to us, making me straighten my spine with a single, cold look. “You’ll see. You’ll all see. These boys are my flesh and blood. They’ll prove themselves virile."

"But Remy…" Burn tries to cut in.

Slicing his hand through the air decisively, Remy is done listening to us bicker. "That’s enough. Now get moving. I have better things to do than to listen to you whine. And boys? I expect to hear big news from you very soon. Don’t disappoint me."

Reflexively, the idea of what disappointing Remy looks like chills my veins.

"Dad, I was wondering if I could get a minute to talk to you about a new business venture." My father stands up, straightening the cuff of his wrinkled blue Oxford shirt.

"I don’t think so. Fuck off now. I have actual business to do."

Remy waves his hand dismissively and turns his back on us.

I shake my head, because Remy was right. This was an immense waste of my time.

As I am leaving Remy’s study, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, scanning the text messages that I have received in the last thirty minutes with a bored, slightly annoyed eye. Then I see it.

A text from Talia Chance. Licking my lips, I open the message. It only says one word:

yes.

I stop in place, looking up thankfully and pumping my fist with a low hiss. "Yes."

Burn walks by me, purposefully slamming his shoulder into mine and sneering at me as he stalks past. But I hardly notice him.

Talia has just made my fucking day. No, she has made my whole life.

It’s stupid that all my life choices have been reduced down to this little display of who wants Remy’s love the most. But if Talia is convinced, I can move forward with my plan.

I head out of the estate, my mood shifting. I can’t seem to stop grinning like an idiot. As I climb into my Porsche, I make a phone call by pressing one of the buttons on the dashboard.

"Call my lawyers," I command. A second later, one of my lawyers picks up his phone.

"Mr. Morgan," he says. "I didn’t expect to hear from you before the deep sea drilling mineral rights were ready to be purchased. What can I help you with?"

"I need a prenuptial agreement," I say. I pull out of the driveway and head toward the town of Harwicke. "I’ll text you the nitty-gritty details, but I need an ironclad contract. I am paying two hundred and fifty thousand now and two hundred and fifty thousand when she has our first baby. I want to be certain that there is a nondisclosure agreement built in about the money, too. She can’t breathe a word about being paid or her child’s paternity to anyone.”

"Wow, okay. Most prenuptial agreements require both partners to wait a certain amount of time, say five years, before becoming fully vested. And then, of course, at ten or twenty years, there should be some wiggle room just in case you decide to divorce."

"No. We’re not going to divorce. I want to make sure that she will never leave me. I want her to feel like she will be crushed if she decides to divorce."

My lawyer clears his throat. "I see. Well, we can talk about ways to do that."

"Great. When you have a contract for me to look at, email it to me."

"Okay," he says. But before he can speak again, I cut the call off.

I pay him a fuckton of money. I don’t need to be nice on top of that.

I quickly dictate a text to my personal assistant, asking to meet him because I have a lot of news for him.

He replies with an address, and I gun the engine, heading into Harwicke.

I pull up outside Herbsaint, the bar that Tristen introduced me to. It’s in a trendy part of town where there are tons of mixed-use buildings and warehouse lofts. I check the address and head into a building that sits across the street, five stories tall and newly refurbished.

The doorman greets me, asking me if I am Mr. Morgan. I tell him that I’m here to meet Rob, and he sends me up a newly installed stainless-steel elevator to the top floor. I step out, expecting construction or maybe an art gallery or something.

But the elevator opens into a huge, airy space with a kitchen on the left and a stylish and sleek living room to my right. Behind those rooms, there are rice paper walls dividing the rest of the spaces from my view.

Rob peeks his head out from behind the rice paper divider in the living room, his eyes full of excitement. "Isn’t this place just everything?"

He gestures to the newly refinished walls, which are matte dark blue on the bottom and slick cream on the top. I look around, taking in the luxury finishes.

There are colorful chandeliers, each one a different shade of pale blue or light yellow. The metal finishes on every surface are chrome and bronze, and the marble floors gleam with gold accents. The living room has white couches that are lined with soft pillows. Overall, it looks like a lot of expense has gone into designing this apartment, if that’s what it is.

"It’s nice," I say. "What’s it for?"

“Well, it’s just been built out by a luxury design firm. You were saying that you wanted to rent or buy a place close to home that wasn’t the estate or the hotel you live in." He looks all around him, gesturing to the whole apartment. "What do you think? It’s very swanky."

I exhale, looking around. "What’s it on the market for?"

"My realtor friend says that it’s priced at five million. But since you can buy the property without any outside financing, I was thinking that you could offer four-point-four million for it."

Squinting at it I think for a second. "It could be nice to have a base of operations here instead of living out of the hotel. Plus, I have a new fiancée who would probably find the idea of having a home important."

Rob turns to me, running his thumb under his lapels. He has a look like he was just smacked in the face. "I’m sorry; I must have misheard you. Did you say you had a fiancée?"

"That’s right, I am engaged."

Saying the words out loud feels odd. I don’t think of myself as a romantic at heart, and yet there is some part of me that resists the title of fiancée. I know that I am not actually going to be swept up in a bunch of hokey, sappy feelings for Talia or anything. But a teeny, tiny sliver of my boyhood self struggles with my now-impending marriage.

Crushing that feeling to the ground and flinging it aside, I smile. “I’m getting married. That’s exactly what is going to happen. As soon as possible.”

He blinks at me. "But I thought that you were going to go through a matchmaker?"

I shake my head. "Nope. The woman I’ve chosen is perfect for me in every way," I bluff. "She is my ideal match."

I look around, my brow puckering. "I suppose that this place will do for us to live in as man and wife. We’ll only need it until Remy picks me as the heir to the fortune. We’ll eventually move to New York City. In fact, I plan to move the entire headquarters of Morgan Drilling to New York City." I smirk. "I’ve always hated this town, and now I can finally exact my revenge on it."

Rob begins to pace the floor, pulling out a phone and typing into it furiously. "When is the wedding?"

"Wedding? Oh. I don’t know. It’s not important. We’ll probably just have one done by a justice of the peace one afternoon."

Rob looks up at me, stopping in his tracks. "That’s it? That’s how Dare Morgan gets married?"

I shrug my shoulders and walk over to the window, looking out at the view. From here, I can look down on the street corner and even see the rooftop patio that accompanies the bar across the street. I purse my lips.

"It’s not important. I’m not marrying for love. I am marrying for money. And my bride-to-be feels the exact same way."

He follows me to the window, his gaze flicking out to take in the scene below. "Do you want to wait to have her see this place before you buy it?"

I snort. "Who cares what her opinion of where we live is? I don’t care. You shouldn’t care, either.”

Rob stares at his phone, making more notes.

"I see," he murmurs.

I check my watch and sigh. "I must get going. But we should make an appointment to have a justice of the peace visit us wherever we are. Maybe we can do that next week." I pause. "Well, actually... Let's wait on that. First, I must have Talia checked out by a doctor. There are a lot of contracts that must be signed beforehand."

Rob arches a brow. "You’re making your fiancée go to a doctor before you can get married?"

I wave him down. "I am marrying her because I knocked her up."

Rob puts his hand out, studying himself on the windowsill and looking gobsmacked. "You what?"

I grin and clap him on the shoulder. "That’s right. There is already a new Morgan cooking in her oven."

He looks so shaken. The fact that I am lying only makes his response funnier to me, although honestly, it could just as easily have been me instead of Burn at the Raven’s Head Club that night.

I could have taken pretty little Talia home. It’s just a matter of logistics, really.

"Don’t worry. I would’ve probably married her anyway," I lie. "She’s great. Really."

She’s anything but great. But I don’t need my personal assistant to pick apart my choice of wife.

Rob puts his phone in his pocket and shakes his head. "I guess I am just having trouble taking it all in. That’s a lot of news for one day."

Straightening the cuffs of my shirt, I jerk my head toward the elevator. "I must go. But get your real estate agent to call my lawyers and get the process of buying this place started. Hopefully, we won’t be here for long. But you never know with Remy."

My good mood stays with me all the way back to the Morgan estate. I am still smirking as I walk in the door, hoping that I just happen to run into Burn but he’s not here. Neither is Remy, it seems.

Damn, the one time I was looking forward to seeing the old bastard.

I must tell somebody, so I walk straight through the mansion, making a beeline for the kitchen. Magda is just putting blueberries on top of a lemon curd tart, her mouth pinched as she tries to decide if her dessert is done or not. When I burst through the double doors, she looks up at me in surprise, and then a warm smile spreads across her face.

"You’re back!" She cries. She wipes her hands on her apron before walking over to me and giving me a quick, hard hug. She looks up at me, tucking her hair into a faded red handkerchief that she has wrapped around her head. I can feel her eyes on my face.

"You look happy today."

I grin at her. "Oh, was I smiling?"

She gives me a funny look and walks back to the countertop, lifting the pie and bringing down a fancy glass lid. She carries the pie toward the refrigerator, and I move almost automatically to pull the refrigerator door open for her. She slides the pie in and then pats my cheek.

"Sit down. I’ll make you some tea. Unless you are hungry?"

I walk over to take a seat at the counter and shake my head. "Tea is fine. I actually came here to tell you something."

Magda gets a white ceramic mug down from a cupboard, drops a teabag in from a box on the counter, and starts an electric kettle. With that done, she turns and leans against the counter, favoring me with a smile. "What is that my dear?"

I hold on to the moment before I speak, knowing that her reaction to my news is probably going to be the only truly favorable one I get. "Do you remember the young lady I brought to the manor before?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "The blond one?"

"Yes, her name is Talia."

She nods. “She seems very nice. You like her?"

I force a smile on my lips, neatly avoiding her question. "I actually asked Talia to marry me today. And she said yes."

I might be fudging the timeline just a little bit, but Magda’s look of jubilant surprise is worth it. She rushes over, hugging me excitedly. I let myself enjoy it for a few moments, putting an arm around her and closing my eyes. I am not exactly starved for touch but it’s not every day that I have Magda around. My life is not full of people that I feel like hugging.

The rest of my family is so cutthroat. And the women I usually sleep with are only interested in a few hours between the sheets, not in hugging.

When Magda steps back, she blots her eyes with her apron. "I’m so happy. You found a good one with her; I can feel it."

I can feel the back of my neck heat slightly. "Thank you."

"What is her last name?"

I squint. "Talia Chance."

"And what does she do for a living?"

Magda fills my mug with water and places it before me. I drum my thumb against the cool stainless steel of the kitchen islands.

"I don’t know. She works in a bookstore. It doesn’t really matter. She will have to give up any job that she currently has when she marries me."

Magda studies me for a moment and then starts pulling out a pot and some potatoes for a future meal. "Does Talia know that?"

I scowl. "She is fine with it. Or rather, she will be."

Magda doesn’t bother looking at me, but I can hear her disapproval in her voice as she begins sorting the potatoes. "Dare, you tend to decide important things without considering the feelings of others. So, does she really feel like she can just give up her work? Or is that something that you have decided for her?"

I dunk my teabag in my mug and take a sip. "She’ll be fine with it. Trust me."

Magda straightens her back and wipes her hands on her apron, giving me a wary look. "I think you are taking the race to get married and have a baby too seriously. Perhaps you should slow down a little and think this through."

Setting my mug down, I push myself to my feet. Magda is the only person with whom I feel comfortable enough to be chastised by. But she is not helping the situation by asking questions like this.

I walk around the large kitchen island, touching Magda’s arm gently. "I know who I’m marrying. I know what I am doing. You have done a great job of looking out for me for so many years. But I need you to support me now. No more questions, no more poking the bear."

Magda smiles at me a little sadly and reaches up to pat my cheek. "Of course, my darling. I only want what is best for you."

Giving Magda a quick hug, I force a smile onto my lips.

My good mood has vanished now, turning sour under the light that she has shed on it. Perhaps my marriage is more delicate than it seems.

"I have to go," I say. "But I will bring Talia around to see you again. Okay?"

She smiles and starts rolling up her sleeves. "Of course. I’ll be here." She turns away, walking over to turn on the tap.

I use my shoulder to push through the swinging door and emerge into the hallway, a sigh on my lips.

One thing has become clear to me. If my engagement couldn’t stand up to Magda’s gentle questioning, it will need a more solid foundation. I must make everyone believe that I am head over heels for Talia. That’s the only way to make our short courtship seem like a romantic thing rather than the rushed hatchet job that it really is.

I’ll have to know much more about her and be able to answer questions about her life. Plus, I’ll have to be more comfortable touching her. And she will have to look like she is infatuated with me in return. We will both have to pretend not to hate each other to pull this ruse off. We will need to rehearse.

On my way to the front of the mansion, I run into Clive. He is on his knees in the foyer, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with a small silver mirror on a piece of newspaper on the floor. He is removing screws from the back of the mirror, his attention riveted.

I walk up to him, surprising him with a few words.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

His body jolts, clutching his chest, and he looks at me with great alarm.

"Oh! Mr. Morgan, I didn’t see you coming." He exhales a shaky breath. "I’m just repairing this mirror so that it can be hung back on the wall."

He starts to stand up, but I wave him down. "No, no, don’t get up. I am on my way out the door."

He arches a brow and puts down the screwdriver he is holding. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

I look down the long hallway, scanning it as I think about his question. "Actually, since you asked, could you call to have our estate on the coast of Maine ready for me to visit as soon as possible? I would love to take a date there for the weekend."

Clive bows his head. "Of course, sir."

"You know I hate it when you call me that. I’m not like Remy."

His lips lift at the corners in a rare smile. "No one ever said you were, sir."

I pause. "Could you also line up a team of hair and makeover experts to come to the coastal estate? I need my date to have a makeover. I need a new wardrobe for her, as well."

Clive sits back on his knees, pulling out a small notepad and a pen, and writing down a note with a flourish. "When will you need the team ready?"

"Probably tomorrow, around midday. I can let you know more in the next few hours."

"All right. Consider it done."

Pushing out my cheek with my tongue, I think of one final thing.

"Can you also have a doctor waiting for us at the airport? I need a female practitioner to give my date a physical exam. Just get a name for me and text it to my personal assistant. He'll take over from there and steer it to the finish line."

Putting his hands on his knees, he climbs to his feet and dusts off his hands. "I can do it for you right away."

I clap him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile.

"That would be great. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go. I have a girl to hunt down."

Clive quirks a brow, but I just head out of the mansion, putting on a pair of sunglasses before sliding into my Porsche. Throwing it in gear, I rev the engine and then pull out of the driveway with a loud screech.

I have a fiancée to finesse and there is no time to waste.